*I write this from the warm side of my parents guest room queen size bed. If I stretch my toes across the middle, I find cold sheets where the warmth of my husband should be. He's currently sleeping on an air mattress in Davenport, likely wishing he could just sleep in a bed.
*I have finally moved home from Iowa. It hasn't sunk in yet; right now it just feels like I'm visiting family. It's odd, knowing I won't likely cross the I-74 bridge and greet the Mississippi until Josh's graduation in February. I enjoyed living by that river; we rarely did activities that the river factored into, but something in my heart felt welcomed, warmed even, by the brown waters.
*I am thankful for tow trucks. Big, strong ones. Ones that can pull your fully loaded Uhaul truck out of mud ruts in the yard- so you can start your trip without unloading your possessions and reloading them in a different truck. (Note here: AAA does not cover Uhaul. Just a handle tidbit of information for your future life.)
*I was not raised on a farm, but they call to me. The drive to Indiana felt like coming home. I enjoyed each cow visible from the road, savored the barns and fields. Even more compelling, the symphony of fall colors in the trees lining the roads and fields. I spoke aloud as I reached the crest of a hill and saw sunlit fields embraced by the beauty of fall trees- "Oh Lord, how magnificent!"
*I am curious about people who honk their car horns at others due to impatience. I have no problems with horns and use it on the occasion another driver does not see me. It's a warning, "I am here!" At a toll booth, I was beeped at (there was also some arm waving involved) because I was going slowly. After waving apologetically as he angrily passed me, I began to wonder if the abrasive personality he was showing in his driving was who he truly is. When did it become okay to get so angry over 20 seconds of patience? When did our society become so self-obsessed that an tiny inconvenience required a physical demonstration of anger?
*God has been flooding my life with awareness of Himself. I have had to learn to trust God's plan and care for me as the knowledge I would move to IN without Josh slowly sunk in. At first I compulsively, almost maniacally, kept track of Josh's required hours and strategized plans for him to earn more. Slowly, slowly, I felt God chipping away at my self-reliance. Quietly He reminded me to trust His plan. Surrender is the road I chose long ago. I choose it again. Minute by minute. Tears ran down my face as my husband drove away today, but inside I also knew peace. Know peace. And I will rest under the watchful eye of our Almighty God.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Comin' at ya like a whirlwind
As TobyMac quite aptly put it,
"Comin' at ya like a whirlwind
A hundred miles an hour's where we'll begin."
This keeps running through my brain. Not just because it's a classy reminder of my youth (makes me sound old to say that), but because said phrase describes the last few weeks and the coming as well. In two days, I'm taking my son and we're leaving Iowa to live with my parents. I realize that sounds like I'm leaving Josh, and I am, but it's not like that! :) Josh is coming to the end of his time at Palmer and is hoping to complete an internship in Indiana while we live with my parents in their sweet basement apartment. However, he still has some clinic requirements to complete before he can move. (The lessons God has been teaching me through all his clinic requirements, such as patience, trust, and not killing people, should be a different blog entirely.) So, we were planning on living in Iowa until he finished his requirements, BUT... our lease is up the end of October and our landlady doesn't want to do month to month. So, Malachi and I are off to Indiana and my dear, sweet, wonderful husband has to stay here and bunk with friends on a futon.
And it breaks my heart.
I'm a pathetic moper when Josh isn't around. Like, I go to visit family by myself but in reality I just want to be home, snuggling with my hubby or playing together with Malachi. So honestly, it will probably be good for my growth to have to miss him and live without him for a while. A good time to work on myself and my relationships with others. And for sure, it will cause spiritual growth as the Lord will be the only one I can talk to as I fall asleep in a lonely bed in a lonely basement. (I have mentioned to Josh that I may just go upstairs and crawl in bed with my parents. They have a king size- it's doable right???)
SO, right now I need to go finish packing. Tonight we're having some man people stop by to help carry some of our heavy stuff (read washer, drier, deep freezer, treadmill, dressers) from the basement and 2nd floor to the garage- where it will be much easier to load from tomorrow using my not manly muscles. And tomorrow we say goodbye to our friends of the last 3 years. And then I leave the place that was Josh and my first hometown. The place we learned what marriage truly was. Where we started our family. And it would be a good thing, if only I could take my husband with me.
(*Extra: If you are reading this and pity me, please go see Josh for chiro adjustments. He needs the numbers. Or pray for him to get his numbers quickly. Or do both. Yes, that's the best option.*)
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Who Is That Child's Mother?!
This post starts with a confession. I didn't go to church this past Sunday. My excuse is working Saturday night and being completely EXHAUSTED. Our pastor once told us to stay home and sleep if we're going to fall asleep in church. And this past Sunday I took him at his word.
Josh and Malachi still went however. (As you can tell, I have a very spiritual baby.) Before climbing into bed, I put Malachi in a short sleeved white onesie and a long sleeve button up shirt. I told Josh that Malachi's jeans were on the stairs, his bag was packed, and that he needed to come home right after church as Malachi would need to nurse. And then, ah, the bliss of slumber.
Later that evening, we decided to go out on the town. I searched for Malachi's jeans, but when they were not to be found, I asked Josh where he had put them when he had removed them from Malachi. Mayhap you can guess where this tale is headed. Josh replied, "What jeans?"
"The jeans he wore to church."
"He didn't wear jeans to church."
"What did he wear?"
"The shirt you had on him."
Yes. It's true. Josh took our son to church without pants. I can just imagine his little rolled thighs as he crawled around the nursery. And it was chilly too! I wonder what the nursery workers thought as Josh dropped him off in a classy button up shirt with no pants.
Mortifying. And hilarious. I'm never going to the 11:00am service again. Malachi is too easy to remember with his full head of hair and unique name. Of course, I immediately called my mother and sister to share this amusing story. They were equally tickled.
I hope you are as well.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Eighty-one year olds are romantic.
If you know me, you know I have an incurable crush on older men. I'm not talking Clooney. I'm talking hunched back, saggy skin and long earlobes older. They have lived. And they are so special to me.
The other night at work I was floated down to the ICU. INSTANT FEAR AND TREMBLING. I stopped being an ICU nurse for a reason and I was nervous my old cronies would want me to take a patient load. No thank you, it's been almost two years and I would likely kill whomever they were wanting me to save. Instead (thank you Jackie!) I was assigned the task of sitting with an 81 year old confused heart surgery patient who had previously tried to give himself a concussion by pulling his IV pole down on his head. I will call him Donny.
Donny was wonderful. In order to keep him from pulling out his PICC line, I asked him if I could hold his hand. And he had just the sweetest answer. "Well, I had better call your dad and ask for permission." See? Eighty-one year olds have class. I told him I didn't think my dad would mind- nor my husband. (And Josh didn't- he knows he comes first, Russell Crowe second, and all old men third.)
So Donny and I got to hold hands all night long. And sometimes he would grab my hand with both of his, and with shaking hands arms raise my hand to his mouth to kiss the back of my hand. Aww. Precious.
Now, Donny wasn't perfect. At certain points of the night he was screaming for his wife (who wasn't there), twitching like he was getting ready to knock me unconscious, or winging his SpO2 monitor cord around like a lasso. But he was also sweet enough to tell me about his kids and his time in the service and his dear wife who "was quite a looker, in his opinion."
It was an incredibly long night shift- sitting in a darkened room trying ever so hard not to get sleepy. But it was so good. The older people are the one thing I miss from the ICU. Their stories. Their wisdom. Their perspectives. They have lived life and learned lessons. They've experienced pain and heartache. And they've loved. And they are living in a time when the number of people they love are growing fewer and fewer. I can't imagine watching friends die. And having to say goodbye to a spouse of fifty years. But I have watched older people deal with life tragedy with class. And I want to learn from them. I want to reap from the harvest of their wisdom. I want to hear their stories- learn history from their perspective. I want to be a friend to them.
They need friends, you know. My heart cries for people shoved into nursing homes and forgotten by family. And that's why one day I'm going to take my kiddos to nursing homes. And let my babies begin to learn a life lesson. Older people are treasures that won't always be around. Make sure you are not missing out.
I am going to go call my Grandma.
*Disclaimer: Not all older people are wonderful and a joy to be around. In fact, some are quite perverted and should not be granted the opportunity to hold and kiss your hand. :)
The other night at work I was floated down to the ICU. INSTANT FEAR AND TREMBLING. I stopped being an ICU nurse for a reason and I was nervous my old cronies would want me to take a patient load. No thank you, it's been almost two years and I would likely kill whomever they were wanting me to save. Instead (thank you Jackie!) I was assigned the task of sitting with an 81 year old confused heart surgery patient who had previously tried to give himself a concussion by pulling his IV pole down on his head. I will call him Donny.
Donny was wonderful. In order to keep him from pulling out his PICC line, I asked him if I could hold his hand. And he had just the sweetest answer. "Well, I had better call your dad and ask for permission." See? Eighty-one year olds have class. I told him I didn't think my dad would mind- nor my husband. (And Josh didn't- he knows he comes first, Russell Crowe second, and all old men third.)
So Donny and I got to hold hands all night long. And sometimes he would grab my hand with both of his, and with shaking hands arms raise my hand to his mouth to kiss the back of my hand. Aww. Precious.
Now, Donny wasn't perfect. At certain points of the night he was screaming for his wife (who wasn't there), twitching like he was getting ready to knock me unconscious, or winging his SpO2 monitor cord around like a lasso. But he was also sweet enough to tell me about his kids and his time in the service and his dear wife who "was quite a looker, in his opinion."
It was an incredibly long night shift- sitting in a darkened room trying ever so hard not to get sleepy. But it was so good. The older people are the one thing I miss from the ICU. Their stories. Their wisdom. Their perspectives. They have lived life and learned lessons. They've experienced pain and heartache. And they've loved. And they are living in a time when the number of people they love are growing fewer and fewer. I can't imagine watching friends die. And having to say goodbye to a spouse of fifty years. But I have watched older people deal with life tragedy with class. And I want to learn from them. I want to reap from the harvest of their wisdom. I want to hear their stories- learn history from their perspective. I want to be a friend to them.
They need friends, you know. My heart cries for people shoved into nursing homes and forgotten by family. And that's why one day I'm going to take my kiddos to nursing homes. And let my babies begin to learn a life lesson. Older people are treasures that won't always be around. Make sure you are not missing out.
I am going to go call my Grandma.
*Disclaimer: Not all older people are wonderful and a joy to be around. In fact, some are quite perverted and should not be granted the opportunity to hold and kiss your hand. :)
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Update on my Pitiful Post
So, I thought perhaps I should continue the transparency and let you know how my journey to be a far less lackluster wife is going. (I find 'less lackluster' fun to say. It's even fun to type. Try it. Your fingers get tongue-tied, if that's possible.)
Honestly, I think it's going well. Our house gets a little cleaner each day and I'm working hard to keep it that way. Dishes are done each evening (mostly), the living and dining rooms are tidied before heading upstairs to get ready for bed, and I wipe down the bathroom sink right before climbing into bed. I've even started keeping the toilet lid down (shout out to my brother-in-law, Simon. An open toilet lid is a serious no-no in the Henry household.)
I still have a crazy lot of room to improve. Our master bedroom has three overflowing baskets of clean, folded laundry to be put away. However, I'd prefer you focus on the facts. The laundry is both clean and folded. :) AND.....
The other day some friends randomly stopped by. And when the husband walked into our house, he said, "It's clean in here! You guys keep a tidy place!" And my heart found a place called Bliss.
Now, to get more consistent with my devotions (definitely) and consider a workout routine (probably not).
Honestly, I think it's going well. Our house gets a little cleaner each day and I'm working hard to keep it that way. Dishes are done each evening (mostly), the living and dining rooms are tidied before heading upstairs to get ready for bed, and I wipe down the bathroom sink right before climbing into bed. I've even started keeping the toilet lid down (shout out to my brother-in-law, Simon. An open toilet lid is a serious no-no in the Henry household.)
I still have a crazy lot of room to improve. Our master bedroom has three overflowing baskets of clean, folded laundry to be put away. However, I'd prefer you focus on the facts. The laundry is both clean and folded. :) AND.....
The other day some friends randomly stopped by. And when the husband walked into our house, he said, "It's clean in here! You guys keep a tidy place!" And my heart found a place called Bliss.
Now, to get more consistent with my devotions (definitely) and consider a workout routine (probably not).
Monday, July 2, 2012
Confessions of a (Pitiful) Wife
Eight months.
That is how long it's taken me to start getting into the swing of things after having Malachi. Embarrassing but true. I could blame part of it on working night shift and not having a babysitter during the day when I'm badly needing sleep. I could blame part of it on a decent amount of traveling. (Not going to lie- I could also blame Hulu for hours of mindless show watching. Bad mom award, right here.) But mostly I think I just let myself off the hook.
I look at my sister (or anyone who goes home with a newborn to a house filled with other children) and wonder how in tarnation she does it. If you're wondering, she just added the sweetest baby girl, Adriah Faith, to her already impressive collection of a four year old boy, and two year old twin girls. And I'm pretty sure if I were Rachel, you would find me wandering down the side of the road in my underclothes muttering something about guns and the end of the world. But she is cool. She already had three babies, what problem could one more bring?
I'm not like that. I've always been slow at completing tasks. I can get lost for hours in fiction. I want to snuggle with Josh on the couch instead of dealing with the (never-ending) dishes all over my kitchen. And we're in deep trouble now that Olympic trials are on.
I hadn't realized how messy I'd let life become until a week ago when I made an actual dinner with an actual recipe and we actually sat at the table to eat it. (Granted, the other half of the table was covered with items needing to be put away.) And I realized I felt good about making a yummy meal for my hubby. And I wondered when having a few restful weeks after Malachi's birth had turned into eight months of being a lackluster wife and making excuses.
So here goes something, folks. (I can't rightly say "here goes nothing." Because it's not nothing. We as Christians are told to work as unto the Lord. And I daresay I would be embarrassed to have him see the state of my house right now. And yes, I know He can see it. This is not meant to be a theology lesson. It's more me making an inward decision and outward commitment to do better. Because I know I can.
So, feel free to stop by my house. Anytime. And if it's a wreck, well, I deserve to be embarassed and perhaps it will spur me on.
Just don't judge me for the bills on the table- I'm mailing them tomorrow. :)
That is how long it's taken me to start getting into the swing of things after having Malachi. Embarrassing but true. I could blame part of it on working night shift and not having a babysitter during the day when I'm badly needing sleep. I could blame part of it on a decent amount of traveling. (Not going to lie- I could also blame Hulu for hours of mindless show watching. Bad mom award, right here.) But mostly I think I just let myself off the hook.
I look at my sister (or anyone who goes home with a newborn to a house filled with other children) and wonder how in tarnation she does it. If you're wondering, she just added the sweetest baby girl, Adriah Faith, to her already impressive collection of a four year old boy, and two year old twin girls. And I'm pretty sure if I were Rachel, you would find me wandering down the side of the road in my underclothes muttering something about guns and the end of the world. But she is cool. She already had three babies, what problem could one more bring?
I'm not like that. I've always been slow at completing tasks. I can get lost for hours in fiction. I want to snuggle with Josh on the couch instead of dealing with the (never-ending) dishes all over my kitchen. And we're in deep trouble now that Olympic trials are on.
I hadn't realized how messy I'd let life become until a week ago when I made an actual dinner with an actual recipe and we actually sat at the table to eat it. (Granted, the other half of the table was covered with items needing to be put away.) And I realized I felt good about making a yummy meal for my hubby. And I wondered when having a few restful weeks after Malachi's birth had turned into eight months of being a lackluster wife and making excuses.
So here goes something, folks. (I can't rightly say "here goes nothing." Because it's not nothing. We as Christians are told to work as unto the Lord. And I daresay I would be embarrassed to have him see the state of my house right now. And yes, I know He can see it. This is not meant to be a theology lesson. It's more me making an inward decision and outward commitment to do better. Because I know I can.
So, feel free to stop by my house. Anytime. And if it's a wreck, well, I deserve to be embarassed and perhaps it will spur me on.
Just don't judge me for the bills on the table- I'm mailing them tomorrow. :)
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Adjusting to Mommy-ness
Finally. Time to sit down with my half glass of dark chocolate soy milk and Josh's computer. Time to blog while repeatedly smiling at Malachi who is busy yelling and talking and letting the universe in general know he is alive and awake. He may just throw himself out of his bouncer if I don't go rescue him from it soon.
People have often asked me how being a Mommy is. My response? It doesn't really feel like life has changed that much. And yet I know it has. I would say it's similar to getting married; everything is different and new and yet it feels like life may have been this way forever.
As much as I'd like to say things have fallen into a routine, I know there is much room for improvement. It is not yet rare for Josh to get home in the evening after a long day at school and find me still in my pj's, hair a mess, glasses repeatedly sliding down my nose as I realize I've not yet come up with dinner plans and Malachi is ready to eat again. Today is a midway successful day- I have a load of laundry in the dryer, the dish washer is running, the pots and pans are clean and Malachi got a bath. (Don't judge me for calling it successful when that's all I've accomplished). Oh, and I'm finally taking the time to write a blog. Which now falls way low on the list of priorities. Which is why this post is coming to a close. I've got more to do. My son to rescue from the bouncer, a diaper to change (if the sounds coming from Malachi's direction are any indication), bottles to wash, and it would probably be good if I made myself a little more presentable before my man comes home. Time to get moving. Oh, and dinner. I've got to stop forgetting dinner.
People have often asked me how being a Mommy is. My response? It doesn't really feel like life has changed that much. And yet I know it has. I would say it's similar to getting married; everything is different and new and yet it feels like life may have been this way forever.
As much as I'd like to say things have fallen into a routine, I know there is much room for improvement. It is not yet rare for Josh to get home in the evening after a long day at school and find me still in my pj's, hair a mess, glasses repeatedly sliding down my nose as I realize I've not yet come up with dinner plans and Malachi is ready to eat again. Today is a midway successful day- I have a load of laundry in the dryer, the dish washer is running, the pots and pans are clean and Malachi got a bath. (Don't judge me for calling it successful when that's all I've accomplished). Oh, and I'm finally taking the time to write a blog. Which now falls way low on the list of priorities. Which is why this post is coming to a close. I've got more to do. My son to rescue from the bouncer, a diaper to change (if the sounds coming from Malachi's direction are any indication), bottles to wash, and it would probably be good if I made myself a little more presentable before my man comes home. Time to get moving. Oh, and dinner. I've got to stop forgetting dinner.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Having a Baby- Pattengale Style
It's been two weeks since Malachi David Pattengale entered this world. I guess it's finally time to re-enter the blogosphere and tell the world.
So. We'll start at 7:30 am on Thursday, October 27. I got home from work and got into my warm, cozy bed and snuggled up to my warm, cozy husband and said "Goodnight." (Oh the bliss of coming home to a warm bed and man!) I woke up around 3:30 that afternoon to spend some time with Josh before he left for the evening- he was going to a guys night at a friend's house. At least, he thought so. During a round of Gin Rummy, I once again started having contractions. These have been starting and stopping (most annoyingly) for the past week. We started timing them at 3:42. I know the exact time because we wrote down the contractions and I still have the paper on the fridge. It's one of those things that I just can't throw away. They were about 8-9 minutes apart consistently- strong enough that I'd stop playing and breathe through them, but not really painful. After an hour, I got irritated so I pumped with my milk pump for about 20 minutes. That brought my contractions to every 3-4 minutes. After an hour of these contractions, I decided to take a shower. (I didn't want to go to the hospital even though the timing and length of the contractions were appropriate- since I work in the Birthing Center I didn't want to be sent home from triage for false labor. Mortifying.) After my shower we waited another hour of contractions every 5 minutes before I called the midwife to let her know what was going on. She said I could do whatever I wanted, so I packed up my bags and we went to the hospital an hour later (eh, 8:30pmish).
I was in triage about 30 minutes when they admitted me into labor. The monitor showed I was having contractions every 1-2 minutes, but the baby's heart rate wasn't showing the changes they wanted. So, lots of fluids, popsicles, and lying on my side. After an hour, his heart rate started showing good variations- we were back in business. I had to have IV antibiotics for Group B strep, a normal bacteria that some women have, so they got that on board and then it was time to start walking the halls. It's an interesting thing to wear a hospital gown and have contractions in front of co-workers. I got back massages, advice and encouragement at the nurses' station- they also told me I was 3.5 cm and -2 station. (I was ticked at the -2 station. Come on now, Baby P.)
At 11:30, the midwife broke my water- most interesting feeling ever! Like peeing yourself, but you know you didn't. Suddenly I understood why the nurses were all saying I was smiling too much at the beginning- those contractions were nothing compared to these new ones. I took one more walk in the halls and then said, "Shoot, I'm done with that. It hurts." :) My favorite new spots were lying on my side (breathing and relaxing through contractions) and sitting on the birthing ball (rolling around on the ball during contractions and resting back on Josh between them).
Let me mention, Josh was fantastic! I was incredibly nervous that I would be a total witch during labor- I tend to get a little snappy and mean when I'm hurting. I was just hoping I wouldn't say anything that would damage our marriage forever. ;) However, with that foreknowledge, I must say I did pretty well! There was one time he was talking to my mom on the phone during a contraction and I commanded him (very strongly and several times) to put that phone down! I also had him changing the thermostat almost every minute. But he was great! Supportive, encouraging, loving. He stopped me when I started punching my thigh repeatedly during a contraction (it doesn't really make sense now- but hitting my thigh had seemed like an appropriate response to the pain at the time) and repeatedly offered his hand through every contraction. He grabbed the trash can when I started throwing up and massaged my back whenever I needed it. I have told him this repeatedly: I could not have done it without him (also, I would not have needed to do it without him! Ha.)
At some point in the night, the word 'medicine' started rolling around in my head. Josh and I had wanted to have a medication free birth (other than the necessary antibiotics), but we weren't set in stone as we had no idea what labor was like. We decided to have the nurse check my progress and decide afterwards. She said I was 6cm dilated. Not quite as much as I had hoped, but I really think I was just trying to overachieve (and also I wanted the pain to be done.) After a few more contractions, we decided to try the tub for pain relief. The warm water was heavenly at first. Minus the fact that I was nine months pregnant and a whale. Whales are not supposed to fit in tubs. It's depressing when you can't get all of you under water. You have to keep shifting and rotating and rolling so you don't get cold. Mostly, I just wanted the water to cover my belly- it felt the best that way.
After about 10 minutes in the tub, it wasn't working anymore. The contractions seemed stronger, longer, worse. Josh held the removable shower head so it was spraying water straight on my stomach, but all I could do was cry and pray, "Oh Lord, Oh Lord, Oh Lord" repeatedly. (Oh goodness, I'm going to cry now... this is bringing back quite the memories...) I called my labor nurse into the bathroom, sat up so my face was about a foot away from her's and said (in probably my most intense voice ever... poor Erin!) "Erin, I want pain medicine." She was very serious in return and told me she would get the midwife and then we'd get me some meds.
When the midwife came in, she watched 2 contractions in the tub. At this point, I had no idea what was going on with my body. Halfway through a contraction my entire body would start shaking. I was trying my best to relax (I had been practicing relaxation techniques for the previous 9 months) but would end up pushing with each contraction. The midwife decided to check my progress before allowing any medication: "Ericka, you're a 10. You're completely dilated and ready to go. We're going to get you into the bed and you're going to have this baby." Suddenly I understood why the contractions in the tub seemed so bad. They were! I had dilated 4 cm in 20 minutes. Intense. And no time for pain meds. I had made it.
After the next contraction, I climbed out of the tub, Josh and the midwife quick toweled me dry, and we tottered over to the bed. (I say tottered because it wasn't a walk and it wasn't a run. It was like a trot with the midwife holding one arm and Josh the other. I have no idea who had the IV pole with the antibiotics. I don't even know if it was still hooked to me or not.
I got in the bed and tried to prepare myself for the next hurdle: pushing out a baby. I had read in a book not to push as hard as possible- push how hard your body is telling you to. So, with the first push, I only pushed until I felt pain relief. I didn't think it was that great of an effort, but then the midwife said, "Oh, he's got a lot of hair!" And Josh said he saw the head too. And I thought, "Uh oh, you're not supposed to be seeing his head just yet." And with the second push, I got to reach down and feel my baby's head. It felt... wet. Warm. Soft. After this second push, they told me at some point I was going to feel a lot of pain... the dreaded 'ring of fire.' Even the name is enough to conjure fear in the heart of every woman of childbearing age. Shudder. I replied, "Yes, that is what I'm afraid of!" Push through it, they told me. So, with the third push and (I'm not going to lie) a bit of a yell, I pushed hard. And out came his head. And they told me, "One more, Ericka!" So, with another yell and my forth and final push, out came my son. The midwife had positioned Josh's hands, so he got to deliver our baby.
Suddenly, I had this incredibly warm, wet, soft little body lying on my chest. I heard Josh say, "He's beautiful, Ericka," but I was lost. A weird feeling of disconnect. There is a baby lying on my chest. I know he is mine. What am I supposed to do now? "Hi, buddy." I remember hearing Malachi cry- I remember Josh going to lie down when he got really pale and lightheaded- I remember people congratulating us- but besides how warm Malachi's body was, everything seemed very distant.
I know at some point, it will be difficult to recall the details, but for now, they are engraved in my mind. Malachi David Pattengale, born on his due date. October 28, 2011. At 4:04 am. Weighing 7lbs, 12 oz. Length 20 inches. A full head of dark hair. Perfect.
I will skip the details of the midwife sewing me back together. Needless to say, when you only push 9 minutes, there is no time for an episiotomy or stretching. There is time for nothing except catching the baby. So we had to do some repair work.
Then came snuggling with my son- a shared pride with my husband- exhaustion from a long night's work- pictures with my new family of three- the most delicious piece of toast I've ever eaten- my first unguarded moments alone with my son- a feeling of utter joy mixed with deep tiredness that completely filled my being. And the peace that comes with knowing you finished. You completed the task. You did well.
Of course, the work of being a parent? Well, it just started...
So. We'll start at 7:30 am on Thursday, October 27. I got home from work and got into my warm, cozy bed and snuggled up to my warm, cozy husband and said "Goodnight." (Oh the bliss of coming home to a warm bed and man!) I woke up around 3:30 that afternoon to spend some time with Josh before he left for the evening- he was going to a guys night at a friend's house. At least, he thought so. During a round of Gin Rummy, I once again started having contractions. These have been starting and stopping (most annoyingly) for the past week. We started timing them at 3:42. I know the exact time because we wrote down the contractions and I still have the paper on the fridge. It's one of those things that I just can't throw away. They were about 8-9 minutes apart consistently- strong enough that I'd stop playing and breathe through them, but not really painful. After an hour, I got irritated so I pumped with my milk pump for about 20 minutes. That brought my contractions to every 3-4 minutes. After an hour of these contractions, I decided to take a shower. (I didn't want to go to the hospital even though the timing and length of the contractions were appropriate- since I work in the Birthing Center I didn't want to be sent home from triage for false labor. Mortifying.) After my shower we waited another hour of contractions every 5 minutes before I called the midwife to let her know what was going on. She said I could do whatever I wanted, so I packed up my bags and we went to the hospital an hour later (eh, 8:30pmish).
I was in triage about 30 minutes when they admitted me into labor. The monitor showed I was having contractions every 1-2 minutes, but the baby's heart rate wasn't showing the changes they wanted. So, lots of fluids, popsicles, and lying on my side. After an hour, his heart rate started showing good variations- we were back in business. I had to have IV antibiotics for Group B strep, a normal bacteria that some women have, so they got that on board and then it was time to start walking the halls. It's an interesting thing to wear a hospital gown and have contractions in front of co-workers. I got back massages, advice and encouragement at the nurses' station- they also told me I was 3.5 cm and -2 station. (I was ticked at the -2 station. Come on now, Baby P.)
At 11:30, the midwife broke my water- most interesting feeling ever! Like peeing yourself, but you know you didn't. Suddenly I understood why the nurses were all saying I was smiling too much at the beginning- those contractions were nothing compared to these new ones. I took one more walk in the halls and then said, "Shoot, I'm done with that. It hurts." :) My favorite new spots were lying on my side (breathing and relaxing through contractions) and sitting on the birthing ball (rolling around on the ball during contractions and resting back on Josh between them).
Let me mention, Josh was fantastic! I was incredibly nervous that I would be a total witch during labor- I tend to get a little snappy and mean when I'm hurting. I was just hoping I wouldn't say anything that would damage our marriage forever. ;) However, with that foreknowledge, I must say I did pretty well! There was one time he was talking to my mom on the phone during a contraction and I commanded him (very strongly and several times) to put that phone down! I also had him changing the thermostat almost every minute. But he was great! Supportive, encouraging, loving. He stopped me when I started punching my thigh repeatedly during a contraction (it doesn't really make sense now- but hitting my thigh had seemed like an appropriate response to the pain at the time) and repeatedly offered his hand through every contraction. He grabbed the trash can when I started throwing up and massaged my back whenever I needed it. I have told him this repeatedly: I could not have done it without him (also, I would not have needed to do it without him! Ha.)
At some point in the night, the word 'medicine' started rolling around in my head. Josh and I had wanted to have a medication free birth (other than the necessary antibiotics), but we weren't set in stone as we had no idea what labor was like. We decided to have the nurse check my progress and decide afterwards. She said I was 6cm dilated. Not quite as much as I had hoped, but I really think I was just trying to overachieve (and also I wanted the pain to be done.) After a few more contractions, we decided to try the tub for pain relief. The warm water was heavenly at first. Minus the fact that I was nine months pregnant and a whale. Whales are not supposed to fit in tubs. It's depressing when you can't get all of you under water. You have to keep shifting and rotating and rolling so you don't get cold. Mostly, I just wanted the water to cover my belly- it felt the best that way.
After about 10 minutes in the tub, it wasn't working anymore. The contractions seemed stronger, longer, worse. Josh held the removable shower head so it was spraying water straight on my stomach, but all I could do was cry and pray, "Oh Lord, Oh Lord, Oh Lord" repeatedly. (Oh goodness, I'm going to cry now... this is bringing back quite the memories...) I called my labor nurse into the bathroom, sat up so my face was about a foot away from her's and said (in probably my most intense voice ever... poor Erin!) "Erin, I want pain medicine." She was very serious in return and told me she would get the midwife and then we'd get me some meds.
When the midwife came in, she watched 2 contractions in the tub. At this point, I had no idea what was going on with my body. Halfway through a contraction my entire body would start shaking. I was trying my best to relax (I had been practicing relaxation techniques for the previous 9 months) but would end up pushing with each contraction. The midwife decided to check my progress before allowing any medication: "Ericka, you're a 10. You're completely dilated and ready to go. We're going to get you into the bed and you're going to have this baby." Suddenly I understood why the contractions in the tub seemed so bad. They were! I had dilated 4 cm in 20 minutes. Intense. And no time for pain meds. I had made it.
After the next contraction, I climbed out of the tub, Josh and the midwife quick toweled me dry, and we tottered over to the bed. (I say tottered because it wasn't a walk and it wasn't a run. It was like a trot with the midwife holding one arm and Josh the other. I have no idea who had the IV pole with the antibiotics. I don't even know if it was still hooked to me or not.
I got in the bed and tried to prepare myself for the next hurdle: pushing out a baby. I had read in a book not to push as hard as possible- push how hard your body is telling you to. So, with the first push, I only pushed until I felt pain relief. I didn't think it was that great of an effort, but then the midwife said, "Oh, he's got a lot of hair!" And Josh said he saw the head too. And I thought, "Uh oh, you're not supposed to be seeing his head just yet." And with the second push, I got to reach down and feel my baby's head. It felt... wet. Warm. Soft. After this second push, they told me at some point I was going to feel a lot of pain... the dreaded 'ring of fire.' Even the name is enough to conjure fear in the heart of every woman of childbearing age. Shudder. I replied, "Yes, that is what I'm afraid of!" Push through it, they told me. So, with the third push and (I'm not going to lie) a bit of a yell, I pushed hard. And out came his head. And they told me, "One more, Ericka!" So, with another yell and my forth and final push, out came my son. The midwife had positioned Josh's hands, so he got to deliver our baby.
Suddenly, I had this incredibly warm, wet, soft little body lying on my chest. I heard Josh say, "He's beautiful, Ericka," but I was lost. A weird feeling of disconnect. There is a baby lying on my chest. I know he is mine. What am I supposed to do now? "Hi, buddy." I remember hearing Malachi cry- I remember Josh going to lie down when he got really pale and lightheaded- I remember people congratulating us- but besides how warm Malachi's body was, everything seemed very distant.
I know at some point, it will be difficult to recall the details, but for now, they are engraved in my mind. Malachi David Pattengale, born on his due date. October 28, 2011. At 4:04 am. Weighing 7lbs, 12 oz. Length 20 inches. A full head of dark hair. Perfect.
I will skip the details of the midwife sewing me back together. Needless to say, when you only push 9 minutes, there is no time for an episiotomy or stretching. There is time for nothing except catching the baby. So we had to do some repair work.
Then came snuggling with my son- a shared pride with my husband- exhaustion from a long night's work- pictures with my new family of three- the most delicious piece of toast I've ever eaten- my first unguarded moments alone with my son- a feeling of utter joy mixed with deep tiredness that completely filled my being. And the peace that comes with knowing you finished. You completed the task. You did well.
Of course, the work of being a parent? Well, it just started...
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Autumn.
Autumn is my favorite.
Scarves.
Apple cider.
My dad's old flannel red and black jacket.
Snuggling.
Gusty, invigorating breezes.
Crunchy leaves.
Pumpkins.
Pumpkin pie.
Pumpkin rolls.
Pumpkin lattes.
Pumpkin bread.
Dark hot chocolate.
Red, orange, and brown.
Sweaters (albeit, I wear sweaters all year long).
Festivals.
Beautiful foliage.
Spicy smells.
Chili and cornbread.
Crisp, clear air.
The whispered thought of Christmas.
Scarves.
Apple cider.
My dad's old flannel red and black jacket.
Snuggling.
Gusty, invigorating breezes.
Crunchy leaves.
Pumpkins.
Pumpkin pie.
Pumpkin rolls.
Pumpkin lattes.
Pumpkin bread.
Dark hot chocolate.
Red, orange, and brown.
Sweaters (albeit, I wear sweaters all year long).
Festivals.
Beautiful foliage.
Spicy smells.
Chili and cornbread.
Crisp, clear air.
The whispered thought of Christmas.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
An Exceptionally Good Day
Satisfied.
That is what I feel right now.
Today we had our external version- the procedure where the OB doctor and midwife try to push a baby into the head down position when he or she is breech. It is such a weird feeling to be walking into the hospital to be admitted as a patient; suddenly my adrenaline is pumping and holding Josh's hand is a necessity. We start with a quick stop at Radiology for an ultrasound to make sure Baby P. is still breech. And yes, he is. We also ask for a quick check to make sure his male genitalia is still present. Thankfully, it is. I would've been a nervous nelly to find out he'd lost them somewhere in my uterus. :)
Next we ride the elevator up to my home base- the birthing center. But, like I said, it's not quite as relaxing when you are the patient. After a quick check in, I get to change into a hospital gown- wow those things are breezy on the backside- and hop into the hospital bed to watch some cable while they start an IV. (They set everything up as if we will need to do a c-section, as this is one of the possible negative outcomes of a version.) After my IV is in, they hook me up to the baby's heart monitor- his heart rate is running in the very decent 140s and my uterus is irritable. After around 30 minutes of monitoring, the nurse gave me an injection of terbutaline to relax my uterus and the ladies with the baby turning hands show up. Another quick ultrasound, baby powder dusted all over my belly, and it's time to convince this little man that he wants to go head down.
I have heard versions described in completely different ways. Everything from 'slight discomfort' to 'I would've never had one if I knew it was going to hurt like that. Just give me a c-section.' I found it to be the combination of someone giving you a deep tissue massage and an Indian burn at the same time. With Josh holding my right hand, my nurse holding my left, and the doctor and midwife shoving on the baby, all I could really think about was my breathing and trying to relax. I do remember hearing Josh telling me what a good job I was doing. And I remember when the doctor couldn't find the baby's head again halfway through the turn. I remember saying, "Oh dear, we've lost his head." And hearing everyone laugh. I remember my left leg flexing as the midwife's hands pushed across my tight left round ligament. I remember thinking they must almost be done and then them questioning if he had moved at all. A quick ultrasound showing that not only was he heading down, they were about to start pushing his head back up to the top! So they stopped that idea really quickly. We were done! He was head down and we simply needed to be monitored for the next hour to make sure everything still looked wonderful. What a feeling.
After arriving at home, I got to climb back into bed and sleep for the next 5 hours. Which was kind of fantastic, as the terb injection made me jittery and exhausted. And I'm probably going to go climb back into our king bed of comfort as soon as I finish writing this.
So, besides a successful version, what else could make this day better? We found out the new Chipotle is open- OH YEAH. We have been waiting oh so (im)patiently. So that was the second part of the day to celebrate. But wait, it gets better.
We went to the mall after Chipotle and found our third thing to celebrate. We finally found a back massager!!! So, this may come as a surprise, but these suckers are difficult to find. Target doesn't carry them until Christmas (come on! Tell me who only wants back massages near the holidays!?). Walmart doesn't carry them. No one carries them. Enter stage right: Bath and Body Works. Highly overpriced, but there they were in a little basket in the very back of the store. SOLD! Our hospital bags are now complete. Whew.
Today was: an exceptionally good day.
That is what I feel right now.
Today we had our external version- the procedure where the OB doctor and midwife try to push a baby into the head down position when he or she is breech. It is such a weird feeling to be walking into the hospital to be admitted as a patient; suddenly my adrenaline is pumping and holding Josh's hand is a necessity. We start with a quick stop at Radiology for an ultrasound to make sure Baby P. is still breech. And yes, he is. We also ask for a quick check to make sure his male genitalia is still present. Thankfully, it is. I would've been a nervous nelly to find out he'd lost them somewhere in my uterus. :)
Next we ride the elevator up to my home base- the birthing center. But, like I said, it's not quite as relaxing when you are the patient. After a quick check in, I get to change into a hospital gown- wow those things are breezy on the backside- and hop into the hospital bed to watch some cable while they start an IV. (They set everything up as if we will need to do a c-section, as this is one of the possible negative outcomes of a version.) After my IV is in, they hook me up to the baby's heart monitor- his heart rate is running in the very decent 140s and my uterus is irritable. After around 30 minutes of monitoring, the nurse gave me an injection of terbutaline to relax my uterus and the ladies with the baby turning hands show up. Another quick ultrasound, baby powder dusted all over my belly, and it's time to convince this little man that he wants to go head down.
I have heard versions described in completely different ways. Everything from 'slight discomfort' to 'I would've never had one if I knew it was going to hurt like that. Just give me a c-section.' I found it to be the combination of someone giving you a deep tissue massage and an Indian burn at the same time. With Josh holding my right hand, my nurse holding my left, and the doctor and midwife shoving on the baby, all I could really think about was my breathing and trying to relax. I do remember hearing Josh telling me what a good job I was doing. And I remember when the doctor couldn't find the baby's head again halfway through the turn. I remember saying, "Oh dear, we've lost his head." And hearing everyone laugh. I remember my left leg flexing as the midwife's hands pushed across my tight left round ligament. I remember thinking they must almost be done and then them questioning if he had moved at all. A quick ultrasound showing that not only was he heading down, they were about to start pushing his head back up to the top! So they stopped that idea really quickly. We were done! He was head down and we simply needed to be monitored for the next hour to make sure everything still looked wonderful. What a feeling.
After arriving at home, I got to climb back into bed and sleep for the next 5 hours. Which was kind of fantastic, as the terb injection made me jittery and exhausted. And I'm probably going to go climb back into our king bed of comfort as soon as I finish writing this.
So, besides a successful version, what else could make this day better? We found out the new Chipotle is open- OH YEAH. We have been waiting oh so (im)patiently. So that was the second part of the day to celebrate. But wait, it gets better.
We went to the mall after Chipotle and found our third thing to celebrate. We finally found a back massager!!! So, this may come as a surprise, but these suckers are difficult to find. Target doesn't carry them until Christmas (come on! Tell me who only wants back massages near the holidays!?). Walmart doesn't carry them. No one carries them. Enter stage right: Bath and Body Works. Highly overpriced, but there they were in a little basket in the very back of the store. SOLD! Our hospital bags are now complete. Whew.
Today was: an exceptionally good day.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Happy Full Term, Baby.
So, it's been forever since I've blogged. But, in reality, I haven't felt I had that much to write about anyways. Life is moving forward at a pace that feels like a snail's slow, steady movement. And at the same time, I am shocked that it's already October and Baby P. is now considered full term. 37 weeks. It blows my mind.
Life changes? My belly is bigger. The nursery is ready and waiting. Braxton Hicks contractions now require I stop walking and wait it out. (Yes, they're still Braxton hicks, but they also happen to cause my right thigh to cramp up.) Josh now understands that every stop at every store requires a stroll through baby section to see if there are any other last minute items I need (want). Random strangers ask me when I'm due (and I love this... I've been waiting for this for quite some time!). They also feel compelled to tell me the worst labor stories they have heard (this I don't enjoy quite as much.) I grunt when I try to lean down, sit on the floor, get up, roll over, etc etc etc. I've finally gained the 25 pound minimum my midwives set for me. I have pitting edema when my shifts at work are over- which is actually quite entertaining on slow nights- how many fingerprints can I make in my leg before the first ones start disappearing???
I'm feeling quiet about life right now. Which is most likely God's faithful intervention to keep me from exploding with all the emotional ups and downs that come with the ending of pregnancy. See, Baby P. has been breech the entire pregnancy. Which is fine- common even. At 34 weeks, the midwives reported he was likely head down. Finally! He's in position and we're getting ready. But at our 36 week appointment, we discovered he is once again breech. At this point, it's getting kind of crowded in there and the odds of him flipping into position are starting to decrease. We started seeing the chiropractor every day and doing all the tricks- laying upside down, music and flashlight down on the lower part of my abdomen, a piece of ice near his feet- all the fun stuff. Apparently, he rather enjoys not hanging around upside down, as he's having none of it. So the next step is an external version- this basically involves being monitored at the hospital as they try to manually push the baby into place by pushing on my belly. They say it feels like a truck running over you. Which really made me feel confident as I signed the consent form. :) This is the last effort- if the version doesn't work, it appears we'll be having a c-section.
I think the hard part for me is the not knowing. At first I was incredibly disappointed by the thought of a c-section. Josh and I had wanted to have as natural a birth as possible- he opposite side of the spectrum from a major abdominal surgery. Obviously, our first priority is having a safe delivery and healthy baby, but this pregnancy has been absolutely perfect thus far- we didn't expect a wrench in the works at this point in time. Josh is fantastic- supportive and encouraging and accepting of whatever comes. I struggle with this a little more. The emotional ups and downs of "he's head down, he's breech, he might be head down, oh wait, he's still breech," over even a week have exhausted me. Which has brought me to a point of peace. The Lord knows this baby- He holds this baby in His magnificent, almighty hand- He knows when and how this baby will enter the world and every tiny detail about the coming weeks. And I can leave it at that. At this point, all I feel is joy at the coming of my baby, peace at however he makes his appearance, and tired. Also, I feel sudden, incredibly strong urges to go to the bathroom as this little man kicks and stretches his legs straight down into my bladder. Thanks, bud. I love you.
Life changes? My belly is bigger. The nursery is ready and waiting. Braxton Hicks contractions now require I stop walking and wait it out. (Yes, they're still Braxton hicks, but they also happen to cause my right thigh to cramp up.) Josh now understands that every stop at every store requires a stroll through baby section to see if there are any other last minute items I need (want). Random strangers ask me when I'm due (and I love this... I've been waiting for this for quite some time!). They also feel compelled to tell me the worst labor stories they have heard (this I don't enjoy quite as much.) I grunt when I try to lean down, sit on the floor, get up, roll over, etc etc etc. I've finally gained the 25 pound minimum my midwives set for me. I have pitting edema when my shifts at work are over- which is actually quite entertaining on slow nights- how many fingerprints can I make in my leg before the first ones start disappearing???
I'm feeling quiet about life right now. Which is most likely God's faithful intervention to keep me from exploding with all the emotional ups and downs that come with the ending of pregnancy. See, Baby P. has been breech the entire pregnancy. Which is fine- common even. At 34 weeks, the midwives reported he was likely head down. Finally! He's in position and we're getting ready. But at our 36 week appointment, we discovered he is once again breech. At this point, it's getting kind of crowded in there and the odds of him flipping into position are starting to decrease. We started seeing the chiropractor every day and doing all the tricks- laying upside down, music and flashlight down on the lower part of my abdomen, a piece of ice near his feet- all the fun stuff. Apparently, he rather enjoys not hanging around upside down, as he's having none of it. So the next step is an external version- this basically involves being monitored at the hospital as they try to manually push the baby into place by pushing on my belly. They say it feels like a truck running over you. Which really made me feel confident as I signed the consent form. :) This is the last effort- if the version doesn't work, it appears we'll be having a c-section.
I think the hard part for me is the not knowing. At first I was incredibly disappointed by the thought of a c-section. Josh and I had wanted to have as natural a birth as possible- he opposite side of the spectrum from a major abdominal surgery. Obviously, our first priority is having a safe delivery and healthy baby, but this pregnancy has been absolutely perfect thus far- we didn't expect a wrench in the works at this point in time. Josh is fantastic- supportive and encouraging and accepting of whatever comes. I struggle with this a little more. The emotional ups and downs of "he's head down, he's breech, he might be head down, oh wait, he's still breech," over even a week have exhausted me. Which has brought me to a point of peace. The Lord knows this baby- He holds this baby in His magnificent, almighty hand- He knows when and how this baby will enter the world and every tiny detail about the coming weeks. And I can leave it at that. At this point, all I feel is joy at the coming of my baby, peace at however he makes his appearance, and tired. Also, I feel sudden, incredibly strong urges to go to the bathroom as this little man kicks and stretches his legs straight down into my bladder. Thanks, bud. I love you.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
I'm a fan of my husband.
I've said it before, I'll say it again. My husband is just the greatest. You don't even know, and there is really no feasible way for you to find out unless you were married to him. And that is an opportunity I'm not going to give you. So, you'll just have to take my word for it.
To me, pregnancy has been somewhat like a second honeymoon phase. Except different. We know each other better and can communicate on a deeper level. We have dropped some of that "try to impress each other" act and can openly bare our deepest fears and thoughts and joys and concerns. And their is a tenderness, a feeling of complete empathy with and for one another.
I have never felt so deeply cared about as I have with Josh. And this is no hit on my parents or family. His level of tenderness and deep concern for me is overwhelming. Tears flood my eyes as I think of his commitment and steadfastness to me and our marriage. And our son.
I am spoiled. Spoiled by a man who truly considers me before himself. Who rigorously guards his eyes, thoughts, and heart. Who brings joy and completion to our home by simply being in it. Who softly kisses my shoulder or rubs my back when I'm tossing and turning at night. Who praises me for being such a good wife when the only thing I accomplished was vacuuming the carpet. Who puts away his studying or fantasy football to ask what he can do for me to make the evening special. Who reminds me of God's faithfulness. Even who God uses to bring conviction and growth and change into my life.
I am so, so thankful. For my husband.
To me, pregnancy has been somewhat like a second honeymoon phase. Except different. We know each other better and can communicate on a deeper level. We have dropped some of that "try to impress each other" act and can openly bare our deepest fears and thoughts and joys and concerns. And their is a tenderness, a feeling of complete empathy with and for one another.
I have never felt so deeply cared about as I have with Josh. And this is no hit on my parents or family. His level of tenderness and deep concern for me is overwhelming. Tears flood my eyes as I think of his commitment and steadfastness to me and our marriage. And our son.
I am spoiled. Spoiled by a man who truly considers me before himself. Who rigorously guards his eyes, thoughts, and heart. Who brings joy and completion to our home by simply being in it. Who softly kisses my shoulder or rubs my back when I'm tossing and turning at night. Who praises me for being such a good wife when the only thing I accomplished was vacuuming the carpet. Who puts away his studying or fantasy football to ask what he can do for me to make the evening special. Who reminds me of God's faithfulness. Even who God uses to bring conviction and growth and change into my life.
I am so, so thankful. For my husband.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Good grief. Where has the time gone?! Most likely I've used it up eating and sleeping, but I don't remember now. I suppose I should rehash some of what's happened in the time since I've last posted...
The day after I posted that Josh hadn't felt the baby move, he felt the baby for the first time. I don't remember much about it- the baby was moving around four in the morning, so I woke Josh up, grabbed his hand and placed it over the baby. The baby kicked and voila! Then Josh rolled back over and went back to sleep. I didn't know if Josh would remember the next morning, but he did. He's too classy of a fellow to dissappoint his wife by forgetting such a lovely event. :) Since then, BP (Baby Pattengale) has been a tornado inside me. These days we can just sit and watch my belly to see BP's movements and kicks. On the especially big movements, I can't help but yelp or giggle- people around me must think I'm out of my mind. Sitting on the couch staring at my belly giggling. It's a lovely time.
We also had our 20 week ultrasound. Apparently, BP is a boy. At least, that's what the tech said. She pointed to some picture and said "It's a boy! There is his ____." (We'll keep this rated pg.) We didn't feel too surpised by that- everyone except my grandpa was guessing male. It just seemed right. We are so excited to have a little boy. Josh is excited for sports and "father-son bonding." I'm just glad that I won't have to deal with girl emotions yet. I have enough of my own, thank you. Side note: I have cried at every mother-son wedding dance I've seen since finding out BP is a boy. At Josh's inquiry, I warbled, "I'm going to have to do that in twenty-some years! (Followed by more sobs and tears and unpleasantries. He responded quickly. "No you won't. Just don't allow dancing at his wedding!" Missed the point just a bit, maybe?)
I have been feeling really well almost the entire pregnancy. Besides being tired and having increased sciatic nerve pain (which was an issue for me even before pregnancy) I am feeling like one hot mama! I thrill everytime a stranger notices I'm pregnant, although I do have the evil desire to answer with, "No, I'm not pregnant. Why would you think that!?" I'm pretty much dying to try that just to watch the questioner's face. Of course, then I would let them off the hook. Haven't gotten the nerve to do it though. Maybe one of these days... (evil laugh).
I'm currently 28 weeks along. It blows my mind that in less than 10 weeks I will be considered full term. That is crazy and wonderful and incredibly scary. How does one make the final transition into becoming a mother? I'm sure it's a transition that takes place over time- the nights you are up all hours holding an inconsolable baby, the time spent in worry and the time better used in prayer, the sacrifices of time, finances, certain desires, self-will, and the knowing that it's all worth it. I have to constantly trust that the God who has always provided will continue. Otherwise, my finite wisdom and understanding will fall far short of the task ahead of me.
Goodness, I love my son.
The day after I posted that Josh hadn't felt the baby move, he felt the baby for the first time. I don't remember much about it- the baby was moving around four in the morning, so I woke Josh up, grabbed his hand and placed it over the baby. The baby kicked and voila! Then Josh rolled back over and went back to sleep. I didn't know if Josh would remember the next morning, but he did. He's too classy of a fellow to dissappoint his wife by forgetting such a lovely event. :) Since then, BP (Baby Pattengale) has been a tornado inside me. These days we can just sit and watch my belly to see BP's movements and kicks. On the especially big movements, I can't help but yelp or giggle- people around me must think I'm out of my mind. Sitting on the couch staring at my belly giggling. It's a lovely time.
We also had our 20 week ultrasound. Apparently, BP is a boy. At least, that's what the tech said. She pointed to some picture and said "It's a boy! There is his ____." (We'll keep this rated pg.) We didn't feel too surpised by that- everyone except my grandpa was guessing male. It just seemed right. We are so excited to have a little boy. Josh is excited for sports and "father-son bonding." I'm just glad that I won't have to deal with girl emotions yet. I have enough of my own, thank you. Side note: I have cried at every mother-son wedding dance I've seen since finding out BP is a boy. At Josh's inquiry, I warbled, "I'm going to have to do that in twenty-some years! (Followed by more sobs and tears and unpleasantries. He responded quickly. "No you won't. Just don't allow dancing at his wedding!" Missed the point just a bit, maybe?)
I have been feeling really well almost the entire pregnancy. Besides being tired and having increased sciatic nerve pain (which was an issue for me even before pregnancy) I am feeling like one hot mama! I thrill everytime a stranger notices I'm pregnant, although I do have the evil desire to answer with, "No, I'm not pregnant. Why would you think that!?" I'm pretty much dying to try that just to watch the questioner's face. Of course, then I would let them off the hook. Haven't gotten the nerve to do it though. Maybe one of these days... (evil laugh).
I'm currently 28 weeks along. It blows my mind that in less than 10 weeks I will be considered full term. That is crazy and wonderful and incredibly scary. How does one make the final transition into becoming a mother? I'm sure it's a transition that takes place over time- the nights you are up all hours holding an inconsolable baby, the time spent in worry and the time better used in prayer, the sacrifices of time, finances, certain desires, self-will, and the knowing that it's all worth it. I have to constantly trust that the God who has always provided will continue. Otherwise, my finite wisdom and understanding will fall far short of the task ahead of me.
Goodness, I love my son.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Girl and boy rules for bathrooms aren't the same.
Today, I passed a large stone. Milestone, that is.
A lady at church realized I was pregnant and talked to me like it was obvious. No questions, no hesitation on whether I'm just chubby or not.
In the bathroom line at church, waiting (me- not so patiently) for our turns, we started discussing women going to the bathroom and how normally this lady and myself beat the rush. When I told her that I often have to leave during the last song to make my beeline for the bathroom, she said (and I quote)
"Well, you have a baby in your belly."
While she said this, she reached out and lightly tapped my stomach.
Stranger lady, you have stolen my heart.
Thank you.
A lady at church realized I was pregnant and talked to me like it was obvious. No questions, no hesitation on whether I'm just chubby or not.
In the bathroom line at church, waiting (me- not so patiently) for our turns, we started discussing women going to the bathroom and how normally this lady and myself beat the rush. When I told her that I often have to leave during the last song to make my beeline for the bathroom, she said (and I quote)
"Well, you have a baby in your belly."
While she said this, she reached out and lightly tapped my stomach.
Stranger lady, you have stolen my heart.
Thank you.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Museum, I love you.
I have cried in many places- libraries, the back room of the ICU, the front of the ICU, the exercise room in Shatford, cars, closets... well, you get the picture. I have left trails of salty tears in many unique places.
I don't think I have ever before cried in the children's hands-on section of a museum. Until last Saturday.
A friend from work happened to have two free passes to the local museum which she passed on to us. And my dear husband agreed to set apart a Saturday morning and afternoon to take me there on a date. (I love dates with activities besides eating and movies- he makes my heart melt when he takes me to the zoo. Two days ago he simply offered to take me on a walk while we ate popsicles. As we slurped our way around the neighborhood I felt like the most cherished wife!)
Back to the point. The first exhibit we stopped at was pictures of different types of bacteria. I amused myself for a while by covering up the bacteria names and having Josh guess what they were. Lame? yes. Did we laugh? Yes. Next we moved to, (Drum roll please!) the children's activity room. Hands down, these sections are always our favorite. Today's exhibit was medical equipment. We completed a knee replacement, used a microscope to examine live cultures from doorknobs and keyboards, opened the chest cavity of a child mannequin (to discover he didn't have a heart- LAME!) and then, there it was. An ultrasound machine.
No way. There is NO way it works. There is no possibility that today, on this random and free date, I will see my child for the first time. I told these things to Josh as he sat before the machine and began turning knobs and dials. It wasn't working. I told him it wasn't going to. Then he had his moment of brilliance. The ultrasound probes weren't plugged in to the machine. He remedied that. He held the probe to his hand. It sure looked like an ultrasound of his hand. "Here Ericka." He gave the probe to me. I looked around, pulled up the stomach of my shirt, and gave it my best guess as far as placement.
I was still looking at my stomach when I heard Josh. "There's a hand!" With awe and such a feeling of complete wonder, I looked at the screen and saw my baby. There it is. There is its hand! And its head! And kneecaps and feet! And boy, it's an active little thing in there! I can't believe I don't feel it moving more often. Needless to say, this is where the tears come into the story. I can't believe, on this day that I was never expecting, this day that was a random, thoughtful gift from a coworker, I had the privilege to see my child. (To all you curious people out there: we weren't able to see if it is a boy or girl. I am a nurse, not an ultrasound technician.) Regardless, it was the most beautiful thing I have seen in my life thus far.
The rest of the museum was kind of a blur. I remember seeing a mummy without toes, gems from Brazil, Grecian urns, artifacts from Iowa's history. We saw the largest gold nugget ever found (worth over 3 million I think it was), extraordinary fossil samples, and costly Chinese shrines and statues. But my heart and my thoughts were back in that children's activity area, with that ultrasound machine that probably wasn't actually supposed to work, when Josh and I saw our precious baby for the first time. And the coolest part? The most wonderful and precious thing in that museum was our baby, and I got to take it home with me.
Ultrasound for $7.50 anyone?
I don't think I have ever before cried in the children's hands-on section of a museum. Until last Saturday.
A friend from work happened to have two free passes to the local museum which she passed on to us. And my dear husband agreed to set apart a Saturday morning and afternoon to take me there on a date. (I love dates with activities besides eating and movies- he makes my heart melt when he takes me to the zoo. Two days ago he simply offered to take me on a walk while we ate popsicles. As we slurped our way around the neighborhood I felt like the most cherished wife!)
Back to the point. The first exhibit we stopped at was pictures of different types of bacteria. I amused myself for a while by covering up the bacteria names and having Josh guess what they were. Lame? yes. Did we laugh? Yes. Next we moved to, (Drum roll please!) the children's activity room. Hands down, these sections are always our favorite. Today's exhibit was medical equipment. We completed a knee replacement, used a microscope to examine live cultures from doorknobs and keyboards, opened the chest cavity of a child mannequin (to discover he didn't have a heart- LAME!) and then, there it was. An ultrasound machine.
No way. There is NO way it works. There is no possibility that today, on this random and free date, I will see my child for the first time. I told these things to Josh as he sat before the machine and began turning knobs and dials. It wasn't working. I told him it wasn't going to. Then he had his moment of brilliance. The ultrasound probes weren't plugged in to the machine. He remedied that. He held the probe to his hand. It sure looked like an ultrasound of his hand. "Here Ericka." He gave the probe to me. I looked around, pulled up the stomach of my shirt, and gave it my best guess as far as placement.
I was still looking at my stomach when I heard Josh. "There's a hand!" With awe and such a feeling of complete wonder, I looked at the screen and saw my baby. There it is. There is its hand! And its head! And kneecaps and feet! And boy, it's an active little thing in there! I can't believe I don't feel it moving more often. Needless to say, this is where the tears come into the story. I can't believe, on this day that I was never expecting, this day that was a random, thoughtful gift from a coworker, I had the privilege to see my child. (To all you curious people out there: we weren't able to see if it is a boy or girl. I am a nurse, not an ultrasound technician.) Regardless, it was the most beautiful thing I have seen in my life thus far.
The rest of the museum was kind of a blur. I remember seeing a mummy without toes, gems from Brazil, Grecian urns, artifacts from Iowa's history. We saw the largest gold nugget ever found (worth over 3 million I think it was), extraordinary fossil samples, and costly Chinese shrines and statues. But my heart and my thoughts were back in that children's activity area, with that ultrasound machine that probably wasn't actually supposed to work, when Josh and I saw our precious baby for the first time. And the coolest part? The most wonderful and precious thing in that museum was our baby, and I got to take it home with me.
Ultrasound for $7.50 anyone?
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Pop goes the belly.
They say your pregnancy belly just pops out in an instant. One moment your stomach was flat and smooth and lovely, then WHAM- you can see all the way to the back of your belly button. I'm inclined to say 'yes' and 'no' to this. I'm pretty sure I started bulging immediately after the pregnancy tests; however, I'm also pretty sure this was due to bloating. As far as the WHAM belly bulge, Josh says that happened to me. I'm not sure when or where the moment occurred, but the other day I was informed, "Wow! Your belly really is growing." Yes, that is why I now love my maternity jeans with the stretchy waistbands- they make me feel good. When I wake up, I'm always inclined to look down across my stomach. So far, above the belly button, it's flat as the fields of Indiana. And an inch below that (now gaping open) belly button, there is my baby bulge- sticking up an inch or two higher than everything else!
I'm obsessed with it.
I'm actually obsessed with touching my belly. I look like a fat hungry man visualizing a medium steak from Texas Roadhouse. Just rubbin' the belly- all. the. time. One of my midwives noted (outloud) at the last appointment that, "I look great and she would have never thought I was pregnant." My belly was seriously offended at that point.
On a different note than my ever growing and expanding and entertaining belly, the little person inside is moving- enough for me to notice! At work the other day (around 1:30ish am- I know because I looked at the time and decided to call Josh anyways) I was feeding a baby in the nursery and suddenly had the strangest feeling that someone was dragging a paintbrush lightly across the inside of my abdomen. Baby?! Is that you??? Of course, with me, tears are always near the surface (not just a pregnancy thing, bummer) so I fought back the onslaught of salty waters, called Josh (who was very excited and understanding for 1:30 at night when he had an 8K later that morning), and of course, rubbed my belly. Since then, baby makes his or her presence known several times a day. Sometimes just subtle movements repeatedly, one time I felt a nice solid kick. At this point, I'm not uncomfortable and every movement is met with joy and a spoken announcement to whomever is in hearing distance. "The baby just moved!" Josh hasn't gotten an opportunity to feel a good kick as they are still sporadic enough to keep me guessing. Word on the street (from all the other pregnant women on my hospital unit) is that feeling the baby move is one milestone that helps a dad get excited about the baby. Josh is already super pumped- he's going to blow a gasket one of these days.
On a side note, Josh is going to be such a great daddy! I could list all the reasons, but that would just be gushy. I'll put it in my baby journal instead. I will just repeat, he is going to be Such a great daddy. Also, last night I made him youtube and watch a birth with me. I think we were both completely grossed out. I know they call it a 'beautiful experience,' but I'm pretty sure the only part that's beautiful is actually getting to finally hold and know your baby. The stuff before that? Josh summed it up with "Just please, please don't make me watch the placenta come out." (I can't believe some people eat it. I mean, really, have they SEEN it!? Not to offend you if that's something you did... shudder. I do hear it's more palatable if you dry it and then grind it into a powder. If you're curious why in the world I would know that, you should hear some of the questions other nurses ask me because I'm a "Palmer wife." According to some of the best rumors, I'm going to knit a bag for the placenta/umbilical cord which I will leave attached to the baby until it rots and falls off, tattoo "NO VACCINES!" on my baby's chest, and call my contractions 'energy waves,' as 'contraction' is too negative of a word. Hot diggity!)
For now, I'm off to do my daily inspection for stretch marks (I hear the fairer skinned you are, the more you will get. Combine that with my super dry skin and we're going to have a desert in summer permanently tattooed across that lovely belly.
And I will show it to my child and say "Look what YOU did to me!!!" And then I will hold them in a long hug (as they are probably scarred from seeing my stomach) and tell them that they were worth every mark.
I'm obsessed with it.
I'm actually obsessed with touching my belly. I look like a fat hungry man visualizing a medium steak from Texas Roadhouse. Just rubbin' the belly- all. the. time. One of my midwives noted (outloud) at the last appointment that, "I look great and she would have never thought I was pregnant." My belly was seriously offended at that point.
On a different note than my ever growing and expanding and entertaining belly, the little person inside is moving- enough for me to notice! At work the other day (around 1:30ish am- I know because I looked at the time and decided to call Josh anyways) I was feeding a baby in the nursery and suddenly had the strangest feeling that someone was dragging a paintbrush lightly across the inside of my abdomen. Baby?! Is that you??? Of course, with me, tears are always near the surface (not just a pregnancy thing, bummer) so I fought back the onslaught of salty waters, called Josh (who was very excited and understanding for 1:30 at night when he had an 8K later that morning), and of course, rubbed my belly. Since then, baby makes his or her presence known several times a day. Sometimes just subtle movements repeatedly, one time I felt a nice solid kick. At this point, I'm not uncomfortable and every movement is met with joy and a spoken announcement to whomever is in hearing distance. "The baby just moved!" Josh hasn't gotten an opportunity to feel a good kick as they are still sporadic enough to keep me guessing. Word on the street (from all the other pregnant women on my hospital unit) is that feeling the baby move is one milestone that helps a dad get excited about the baby. Josh is already super pumped- he's going to blow a gasket one of these days.
On a side note, Josh is going to be such a great daddy! I could list all the reasons, but that would just be gushy. I'll put it in my baby journal instead. I will just repeat, he is going to be Such a great daddy. Also, last night I made him youtube and watch a birth with me. I think we were both completely grossed out. I know they call it a 'beautiful experience,' but I'm pretty sure the only part that's beautiful is actually getting to finally hold and know your baby. The stuff before that? Josh summed it up with "Just please, please don't make me watch the placenta come out." (I can't believe some people eat it. I mean, really, have they SEEN it!? Not to offend you if that's something you did... shudder. I do hear it's more palatable if you dry it and then grind it into a powder. If you're curious why in the world I would know that, you should hear some of the questions other nurses ask me because I'm a "Palmer wife." According to some of the best rumors, I'm going to knit a bag for the placenta/umbilical cord which I will leave attached to the baby until it rots and falls off, tattoo "NO VACCINES!" on my baby's chest, and call my contractions 'energy waves,' as 'contraction' is too negative of a word. Hot diggity!)
For now, I'm off to do my daily inspection for stretch marks (I hear the fairer skinned you are, the more you will get. Combine that with my super dry skin and we're going to have a desert in summer permanently tattooed across that lovely belly.
And I will show it to my child and say "Look what YOU did to me!!!" And then I will hold them in a long hug (as they are probably scarred from seeing my stomach) and tell them that they were worth every mark.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
A grapefruit.
According to reliable sources, my uterus is now the size of a grapefruit. I like grapefruit anyways, so carrying one around inside me sounds perfectly great. I can definitely feel the firmness of my uterus and baby human at the lower part of my abdomen. It's so crazy to push lightly on my stomach and know somewhere, way deep inside, baby is moving around in it's little fluid home. In case you didn't catch that, it's SO CRAZY!!!
Pregnancy has been lovely so far! My sister always said she felt absolutely wonderful when pregnant (I'm assuming this is before she would get close to delivery- rumors say she was pretty miserable at that part), so I was hoping I would follow in her footsteps. And most of the time, I am! The first few weeks I felt the same as normal- just craving juicy fruits and lots of water. Around 8 weeks pregnant, I had my first bout with morning sickness, but as my night shift people would know, my morning sickness would start about midnight. The first night I was sick I was at work... I'd be in the middle of a conversation with a patient and I'd have to bolt from the room. Let me tell you though- working on postpartum gives me the kindest and most understanding group of patients ever! Also, they have a lot of advice. My midwives told me to eat protein more often to increase my blood sugar, thereby decreasing my nausea. Worked like a charm! And I got to eat more, which I am a fan of.
After that, I've felt absolutely fantastic! I sleep all the time, but that was true even before pregnancy. The exhaustion has dissipated as I move further into my second trimester. I've had two OB visits- the first mostly a lot of education and checking to make sure everything (ahem... below) looked fine. The most amusing part of the entire appointment? Halfway through the (ahem) exam when the midwife said, "Well, everything's looking good. Josh? You want to come take a peek?"
The second appointment was lovely- the first time we got to hear the heartbeat of our baby. It was lovely. I'd post a video on here, but my computer is giving me some attitude at the current moment. It's on facebook for you curious readers...
I'm trying to think of anything interesting that has happened currently- I like pickles these days. I bought them on a whim, as I am apparently supposed to like pickles these days. But ever since I've started eating them, I want them all the time! They're so cold, so crunchy, sour and salty and delicious! I can't eat them near Josh; he tells me they reek. But they're so tasty!!! Also, I'm loving pink lady apples, watermelon, salsa, and cheetos. So, so good.
I've got to go. Talking about pickles and not actually eating one is driving me crazy. Guess I'm going to need to go to the store for a refill tomorrow...
Pregnancy has been lovely so far! My sister always said she felt absolutely wonderful when pregnant (I'm assuming this is before she would get close to delivery- rumors say she was pretty miserable at that part), so I was hoping I would follow in her footsteps. And most of the time, I am! The first few weeks I felt the same as normal- just craving juicy fruits and lots of water. Around 8 weeks pregnant, I had my first bout with morning sickness, but as my night shift people would know, my morning sickness would start about midnight. The first night I was sick I was at work... I'd be in the middle of a conversation with a patient and I'd have to bolt from the room. Let me tell you though- working on postpartum gives me the kindest and most understanding group of patients ever! Also, they have a lot of advice. My midwives told me to eat protein more often to increase my blood sugar, thereby decreasing my nausea. Worked like a charm! And I got to eat more, which I am a fan of.
After that, I've felt absolutely fantastic! I sleep all the time, but that was true even before pregnancy. The exhaustion has dissipated as I move further into my second trimester. I've had two OB visits- the first mostly a lot of education and checking to make sure everything (ahem... below) looked fine. The most amusing part of the entire appointment? Halfway through the (ahem) exam when the midwife said, "Well, everything's looking good. Josh? You want to come take a peek?"
The second appointment was lovely- the first time we got to hear the heartbeat of our baby. It was lovely. I'd post a video on here, but my computer is giving me some attitude at the current moment. It's on facebook for you curious readers...
I'm trying to think of anything interesting that has happened currently- I like pickles these days. I bought them on a whim, as I am apparently supposed to like pickles these days. But ever since I've started eating them, I want them all the time! They're so cold, so crunchy, sour and salty and delicious! I can't eat them near Josh; he tells me they reek. But they're so tasty!!! Also, I'm loving pink lady apples, watermelon, salsa, and cheetos. So, so good.
I've got to go. Talking about pickles and not actually eating one is driving me crazy. Guess I'm going to need to go to the store for a refill tomorrow...
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Day 1 of Pregnancy... and beyond.
So, we left off with Josh and I just finding out about the baby in ma' belly. Let's continue, shall we?
The day we found out about the pregnancy we spent countless hours exploring- hoping to find a Urgent Care center to do a pregnancy test. This proved to be more challenging than expected. First of all, we were staying in a retirement center. Not much of a demand for OB doctors. Gynecologists, yes. Obstetricians? No. The second issue? Apparently, if you ask for a pregnancy test at the ONE urgent care center we were able to find, they won't do it. If, however, you go in complaining of nausea, stomach slightly funky, and a late period, they would do the test. I wish I would have known this beforehand. BAH. So, after several hours, we simply decided to wait until we got home to Iowa and set up an appointment with an OB/GYN. Everyone is probably thinking 'duh' at the moment; but you've got to understand... Josh and I behaved ourselves the previous month! :) There was just no way those two pregnancy tests were right! Ha.
We decided (mostly me, because I am AWFUL at secrets and surprises... I just get too excited!) to go ahead and tell family and close friends. So, we started off with my sister Rachel on Skype. Just chitchatting and shooting the breeze, then WHAM! Positive pregnancy test held up to the camera. Boo yah! I am really not sure if she was more excited that I was pregnant or that she was the first to know, but it is safe to say there was excitement. Next, it was time to tell Nanny and Papa- after all, they were letting us stay with them in FL and it is going to be their first great grandbaby! We made a Christmas list of baby items (Christmas gifts are a REAL big thing in their family) and told them we just wanted to get our Christmas list in early. I think Nanny got down to the third item- probably diapers, bottles, or crib... and then exploded out of her chair. Literally, like an explosion. Of tears, questions, laughter. Of course, I started crying too and everyone just got so tickled. It was super.
We told my parents via skype- pretty much the same WHAM! in your face method as Rachel. Dad's first words? "You better not be!" Ha. Whoops. He probably didn't want that to go down in the record. (Of course, in reality he is very pleased. He met and patted my belly this weekend when we saw him for the first time since the news. And he texts me freqently to ask how I'm doing. Such a sweetie.) Mom kept asking if it was true and then cried. Which of course, got me crying again. The only thing better would have been to be able to tell them face to face. But I would have been almost in my 2nd trimester by the time we could have traveled to see them. And that is much too long for me to keep a secret.
Cindy Pattengale found out the next day at dinner, when she flew in with some of Josh's brothers for a weekend in the sun. To celebrate her birthday, we bought a little green onsie that says, "I heart grandma." It was so fun to watch the confusion turn in to excitement as she analyzed the meaning of the gift. Mike simply said, "She can't fit into that, guys." And then, of course, the necessary questions and tears. This is getting to be a habit. We were going to try to skype Jerry, but on Cindy's recommendation just called instead. This was probably one of my favorite moments. Jerry almost reverted to some old form of English, speaking in way that, well, no one speaks anymore. The only quote I actually remember, however, is "Oh, this is just such a blessing." Those words bring such joy and peace to my heart. Baby, you are a blessing. Thank you God, for you perfect plan and timing and the joy You have brought into our lives.
The rest of vacation is kind of a blur- I remember thinking, "I'm pregnant!" about a billion times. How am I supposed to focus on anything else when I've got a pea-sized little person inside me!? The mental shift is incredible- suddenly everything I do, eat, drink... the way I try to lie when I'm going to sleep... it's all first put through this weird 'mommy-filter.' Will this be okay for the baby? Will this help the baby? Will this hurt the baby? Oh, I need to start drinking milk. Gross. Oh, that tastes good. There you go baby! Baby doesn't feel like washing the dishes. Baby wants ice cream. (Ok, some of those things weren't direct messages from the baby.)
My first OB appointment was scheduled for around 4 weeks after we got home from FL. Again... that is too long of a time to wait! I needed proof that I was really preggers! As if the four pregnancy tests (yes, the number changed to four... per Nanny's request) weren't enough. But that first OB appointment should probably be another post. This current post is long enough to print out and wear as a dress. Albeit, a minidress.
The day we found out about the pregnancy we spent countless hours exploring- hoping to find a Urgent Care center to do a pregnancy test. This proved to be more challenging than expected. First of all, we were staying in a retirement center. Not much of a demand for OB doctors. Gynecologists, yes. Obstetricians? No. The second issue? Apparently, if you ask for a pregnancy test at the ONE urgent care center we were able to find, they won't do it. If, however, you go in complaining of nausea, stomach slightly funky, and a late period, they would do the test. I wish I would have known this beforehand. BAH. So, after several hours, we simply decided to wait until we got home to Iowa and set up an appointment with an OB/GYN. Everyone is probably thinking 'duh' at the moment; but you've got to understand... Josh and I behaved ourselves the previous month! :) There was just no way those two pregnancy tests were right! Ha.
We decided (mostly me, because I am AWFUL at secrets and surprises... I just get too excited!) to go ahead and tell family and close friends. So, we started off with my sister Rachel on Skype. Just chitchatting and shooting the breeze, then WHAM! Positive pregnancy test held up to the camera. Boo yah! I am really not sure if she was more excited that I was pregnant or that she was the first to know, but it is safe to say there was excitement. Next, it was time to tell Nanny and Papa- after all, they were letting us stay with them in FL and it is going to be their first great grandbaby! We made a Christmas list of baby items (Christmas gifts are a REAL big thing in their family) and told them we just wanted to get our Christmas list in early. I think Nanny got down to the third item- probably diapers, bottles, or crib... and then exploded out of her chair. Literally, like an explosion. Of tears, questions, laughter. Of course, I started crying too and everyone just got so tickled. It was super.
We told my parents via skype- pretty much the same WHAM! in your face method as Rachel. Dad's first words? "You better not be!" Ha. Whoops. He probably didn't want that to go down in the record. (Of course, in reality he is very pleased. He met and patted my belly this weekend when we saw him for the first time since the news. And he texts me freqently to ask how I'm doing. Such a sweetie.) Mom kept asking if it was true and then cried. Which of course, got me crying again. The only thing better would have been to be able to tell them face to face. But I would have been almost in my 2nd trimester by the time we could have traveled to see them. And that is much too long for me to keep a secret.
Cindy Pattengale found out the next day at dinner, when she flew in with some of Josh's brothers for a weekend in the sun. To celebrate her birthday, we bought a little green onsie that says, "I heart grandma." It was so fun to watch the confusion turn in to excitement as she analyzed the meaning of the gift. Mike simply said, "She can't fit into that, guys." And then, of course, the necessary questions and tears. This is getting to be a habit. We were going to try to skype Jerry, but on Cindy's recommendation just called instead. This was probably one of my favorite moments. Jerry almost reverted to some old form of English, speaking in way that, well, no one speaks anymore. The only quote I actually remember, however, is "Oh, this is just such a blessing." Those words bring such joy and peace to my heart. Baby, you are a blessing. Thank you God, for you perfect plan and timing and the joy You have brought into our lives.
The rest of vacation is kind of a blur- I remember thinking, "I'm pregnant!" about a billion times. How am I supposed to focus on anything else when I've got a pea-sized little person inside me!? The mental shift is incredible- suddenly everything I do, eat, drink... the way I try to lie when I'm going to sleep... it's all first put through this weird 'mommy-filter.' Will this be okay for the baby? Will this help the baby? Will this hurt the baby? Oh, I need to start drinking milk. Gross. Oh, that tastes good. There you go baby! Baby doesn't feel like washing the dishes. Baby wants ice cream. (Ok, some of those things weren't direct messages from the baby.)
My first OB appointment was scheduled for around 4 weeks after we got home from FL. Again... that is too long of a time to wait! I needed proof that I was really preggers! As if the four pregnancy tests (yes, the number changed to four... per Nanny's request) weren't enough. But that first OB appointment should probably be another post. This current post is long enough to print out and wear as a dress. Albeit, a minidress.
Monday, April 4, 2011
I'm pregnant. This might be a news flash for those of you who just haven't found out yet.
I've known for about a month, so I'm about right on par for the time it took me to blog about it. Josh and I were on a lovely vacation down in Florida celebrating... oh I don't know... life? A break between his school trimesters? The opportunity to see the sun? All of the above, most likely. (And, of course, a big thank you to the Pattengale parents and Rowe grandparents for making it possible.) We stayed with Josh's grandparents down in The Villages, FL. I think everyone should go there. It's like Disney for old people. Everyone is driving tricked out golf carts and doing nothing but playing bocce ball and cards and soaking up the skin cancer. They have large town squares and bring in live bands every night so the old folks can shake their new metal hips like never before. It's just wonderful!
Josh and I spent our first several days lounging at pools, catching up on sleep, eating ice cream and sorbet and steak and other delicious things. We really did have a great time! One night Josh and I decided to spend an evening by ourselves... you know, stroll hand in hand down the pier making witty comments about the girl (who looked like she was trying waaaayyy to hard) having her man take "modeling" shots of her, taking pictures of the lighthouse and necessary seagulls, stopping frequently for me to go to the bathroom (necessary even before pregnancy), and wondering in and out of shops. On the way to the second town square, we pulled the golf cart over on the side of the path and watched the sun go down over the lake. 'Beautiful' doesn't really cut it sometimes. We also stopped and picked up hair gel, face wash, and pregnancy tests at the local mart. (The pregnancy thing was more Josh's idea. See, he wanted me to prove to myself that I wasn't actually pregnant. And from past experience, he is usually right. Night shift = havoc on my body, so I've gone through a fortune worth of pregnancy tests. I actually bought prenatal vitamins and would make myself take them for a week. That way I would be doing everything right if I was pregnant and would feel free to wait a little longer to take a prego test. It's actually cheaper that way. Then, a week later, if there was still a possibility, off to the store for a pregnancy test. Again.) We stashed our little purchases in the golf cart and then continued to enjoy the night at the spanish town square- drinking coffee and sharing a cookie from panera, wandering from vendor booth to vendor booth, enjoying the heaviness of the warm air. It was one of those romantic nights you read about in sappy romance novels. Sigh.
Moving to 7am the next morning. I'm awake. I've got a pregnancy test in a bag beside the bed. I've got to pee. Perfect. So, waiting those 3 full minutes. Watching the pee move across the dipstick nervously. Seeing a faint second line. "That's just wishful thinking, Ericka." Hmm. That line is getting darker. There are definitely two lines. OHHHHH MYYYYY GOOOOOOOOOODNESS.
"Josh. Wake up. Look at this. Do you see two lines?"
"I can't see. Turn the light on."
Click.
Silence.
"So, um, am I pregnant? DOES THIS MEAN I'M PREGNANT??!"
I belly flop onto the bed beside him. (Whoops, maybe I shouldn't belly flop anymore.)
"I don't know Ericka."
"Let's take a picture of us!"
"No."
Camera flash!
"Let's take the second test later."
Thirty minutes later. I'm thinking I just might be able to pee again. Two lines. Faster than last time. I slid open the door to the bathroom far enough to make eye contact with Josh. Two nods from me.
We're pregnant.
And of course, we're very excited about this. But right now in the story, we're more in the shock stage. And I feel awful stopping my post without getting to us being super excited and happy and delirious about it, but I'm at work. When you're at work, work comes first. And my shift is almost over, so I've got a few things to finish. So, perhaps in another month I'll get on past the first hour of finding out...
I've known for about a month, so I'm about right on par for the time it took me to blog about it. Josh and I were on a lovely vacation down in Florida celebrating... oh I don't know... life? A break between his school trimesters? The opportunity to see the sun? All of the above, most likely. (And, of course, a big thank you to the Pattengale parents and Rowe grandparents for making it possible.) We stayed with Josh's grandparents down in The Villages, FL. I think everyone should go there. It's like Disney for old people. Everyone is driving tricked out golf carts and doing nothing but playing bocce ball and cards and soaking up the skin cancer. They have large town squares and bring in live bands every night so the old folks can shake their new metal hips like never before. It's just wonderful!
Josh and I spent our first several days lounging at pools, catching up on sleep, eating ice cream and sorbet and steak and other delicious things. We really did have a great time! One night Josh and I decided to spend an evening by ourselves... you know, stroll hand in hand down the pier making witty comments about the girl (who looked like she was trying waaaayyy to hard) having her man take "modeling" shots of her, taking pictures of the lighthouse and necessary seagulls, stopping frequently for me to go to the bathroom (necessary even before pregnancy), and wondering in and out of shops. On the way to the second town square, we pulled the golf cart over on the side of the path and watched the sun go down over the lake. 'Beautiful' doesn't really cut it sometimes. We also stopped and picked up hair gel, face wash, and pregnancy tests at the local mart. (The pregnancy thing was more Josh's idea. See, he wanted me to prove to myself that I wasn't actually pregnant. And from past experience, he is usually right. Night shift = havoc on my body, so I've gone through a fortune worth of pregnancy tests. I actually bought prenatal vitamins and would make myself take them for a week. That way I would be doing everything right if I was pregnant and would feel free to wait a little longer to take a prego test. It's actually cheaper that way. Then, a week later, if there was still a possibility, off to the store for a pregnancy test. Again.) We stashed our little purchases in the golf cart and then continued to enjoy the night at the spanish town square- drinking coffee and sharing a cookie from panera, wandering from vendor booth to vendor booth, enjoying the heaviness of the warm air. It was one of those romantic nights you read about in sappy romance novels. Sigh.
Moving to 7am the next morning. I'm awake. I've got a pregnancy test in a bag beside the bed. I've got to pee. Perfect. So, waiting those 3 full minutes. Watching the pee move across the dipstick nervously. Seeing a faint second line. "That's just wishful thinking, Ericka." Hmm. That line is getting darker. There are definitely two lines. OHHHHH MYYYYY GOOOOOOOOOODNESS.
"Josh. Wake up. Look at this. Do you see two lines?"
"I can't see. Turn the light on."
Click.
Silence.
"So, um, am I pregnant? DOES THIS MEAN I'M PREGNANT??!"
I belly flop onto the bed beside him. (Whoops, maybe I shouldn't belly flop anymore.)
"I don't know Ericka."
"Let's take a picture of us!"
"No."
Camera flash!
"Let's take the second test later."
Thirty minutes later. I'm thinking I just might be able to pee again. Two lines. Faster than last time. I slid open the door to the bathroom far enough to make eye contact with Josh. Two nods from me.
We're pregnant.
And of course, we're very excited about this. But right now in the story, we're more in the shock stage. And I feel awful stopping my post without getting to us being super excited and happy and delirious about it, but I'm at work. When you're at work, work comes first. And my shift is almost over, so I've got a few things to finish. So, perhaps in another month I'll get on past the first hour of finding out...
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
It is Well.
After I posted my blog on desiring gentleness, I was sent several emails and messages with the general idea that God made me who I am and I do not have to be a quiet person to be a gentle spirit. When reviewing my heart and my goals, I realized changing my personality was never in question for me. It was more of “how does the me that God created become the me God can create for the future.” I know it has to be in His Spirit and power, but how does that begin? Where do I start?
I suppose I will start with submission to God. Tonight I ran across a blog of a woman near my age discussing gentleness- she ended with the suggestion to read the writings of Matthew Henry, a Presbyterian minister and Bible commentator from the 1600's. In his book The Quest for Meekness and Quietness of Spirit, Matthew Henry described meekness as submission to God’s plan and immediate acceptance of God’s Word- the kind of blanket acceptance that leaves you ready to be molded by what you read and what is revealed. I know this is probably just an incomplete summation of the first few paragraphs of his thoughts, but hey, I am going off the sneak peak provided by Amazon. And honestly, this is probably a big enough chunk for me to work on while I wait for my newly ordered book to arrive. Blanket acceptance and submission. Contentment with God’s plan and provision. Being at peace with my Heavenly Father. Saying, “It is well with my soul.” Yes, that is enough to work on for right now.
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